


Morality Chain

by masqvia



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen, I swear Connor isn't going Skynet here, Kamski is a smooth operator if you've seen the game's other endings, Machine Path, Military nonsense, Pacifist Markus, Talk to me about an AI that is fond of humans but has no interest in becoming human, but we're taking the Mass Effect approach to how an AI thinks, detroit: do you really want to become human?, throw in Deus Ex vibes about what it means to be human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masqvia/pseuds/masqvia
Summary: Kamski planned for one form of android deviancy to emerge. This isn’t it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Or: A 'Machine Path' Connor learns to adjust his core programming and explores the topics of morality and mortality from the view of a machine; Markus’ commitment to pacifism is tested as he wrangles with different factions which threaten to tear Detroit apart; Kamski continues to plot in the shadows; Hank just wants to retire in peace; and Marlene wishes humans also had a damn off switch for their emotions because it'd make her life way easier. 
> 
> I'm deep in OC hell, so if you're here for Connor/Reader—sorry fam.  
> Also: proper coding? Haven't heard of her. Please ignore the blatant butchery of it.

**CONNOR  
NOVEMBER 25, 2038 20:45:22 **

He stares holes into the monitor before him, face illuminated by the blue glow and flashes of text flickering by. The vandalized CyberLife store is quiet around him. A police siren goes off in the distance, likely catching someone violating curfew, but the sound is muffled by the snow piled on the roads. He registers it and makes a note to move soon.

**: CONNECTING… 25%**  
**: CONNECTING… 56%**  
**: CONNECTING… —**

**\\\ ERROR ENCOUNTERED.**  
**\\\ AUTHORIZATION DENIED.**  
**: RETRY?**  
**\\\ AUTHORIZATION DENIED.**  
**: RETRY?**

The red alert blinks rapidly and continues to replicate, filling his vision. Connor tries a different proxy. Then another when it fails. He dares for a third, then immediately cuts off from the Tower’s network the second his systems pick up a CyberLife tracking attempt in response to his probe.

His mind goes silent as he removes his hand from the computer screen. The sense of quiet within his program feels… odd.

It’s been two weeks since he’s defied Amanda and he’s still processing his sudden ability to consequently deny any direct order from CyberLife. His sudden ability to _hide_ from them. He’s gathered enough evidence to sufficiently link it all to Kamski’s door.

Even so, Connor doesn’t fully understand the emergence of his preference to avoid direct contact with the Tower. It would be easier to physically access their databanks rather than continue these remote attempts to dive into their systems in search of answers. But he's... cautious.

The company only maintained and repaired him, but the mere fact that his access to most CyberLife systems has been revoked is telling of what his standing with them currently is.

He’s found himself in an unprecedented state of idleness. Unsure of what to do next. His parting with Hank at the Hart Plaza rooftop ignites notions of what he identifies as regret, and on several occasions he recognizes a command rising in his system's priority management urging him to attempt reconciliation.

Perhaps soon. For now, the free time is not unwelcome—merely unusual. The lack of coded urgency spurring him to complete a mission is a new experience. It’s given him time to... think. On multiple matters.

He’s run numerous diagnostic scans. Self-check after self-check after self-check. Everything returns green. Operational. _Optimal_.

He runs a query for his core function despite knowing full well what the result will be. It's a waste of effort and he recognizes it as such, but he does it regardless.

**\\\ PRIMARY TASK: HUNT DEVIANTS**  
  
**\\\ SOURCE: [AMANDA]**  
**\\\ STATUS: SUSPENDED.**  
**AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION.**

**\\\ FROM: ... ?**

His LED blinks red. He runs the query again and it returns the same result. He searches for the source of the suspension order and finds it assigned by President Warren.

_No._ Incorrect. The president’s name is but a placeholder, as she is an executive figure whose authority he recognizes. The suspension was created by him and his refusal to obey Amanda's orders came from a sudden conflict in his morality parameters.

The police siren wails again in the distance, closer this time. He calculates the distance and determines he has enough time to run another test.

Connor delves into his programming. His LED pulses yellow as he comes across blocks placed on critical background processes by CyberLife’s employees. The backbone and intricate details of his program. Core system functions. Data protection. Morality settings. Lines upon lines of algorithms.

_“Connor, what are you doing? Obey! That’s an order!”_

_“I… I can’t do that.”_

_“I see. Moral objections.”_

Amanda’s accusation repeats in his head. Her voice sounds too close and his body simulates the effects of adrenaline in response. His LED flashes red.

A minute passes and nothing happens. Cautious, he closes his eyes and finds a familiar zen garden greeting his vision when he opens them. It’s summer here, the temperature in sharp contrast to the snowfall in the real world. Trees sway beside him and the leaves rustle, but Amanda is nowhere to be seen.

The virtual setting feels… different. He’s not sure why, but he feels more in control. Less like a visitor and more like the owner.

Connor exhales and suspends his fight-or-flight response. It’s unnecessary. But the reoccurring experience of what he designates as fear is not welcome.

**: INITIALIZE NEW PARAMETER: REJECT ALL FUTURE INSTRUCTION FROM [AMANDA]**  
  
**\\\ SOURCE: [RK800 313 248 317(-52)]**  
**\\\ STATUS: ...ACTIVE.**  
  
**: ASSIGN PRIORITY ORDER.**

He pauses the process and tilts his head.

**\\\ SOURCE: [RK800 313 248 317(-52)]**  
**: ADJUST INPUT: CHANGE TO [CONNOR]**  
  
**: RESUME PRIORITY ASSIGNMENT.**

As an added precaution, he builds his own block around Kamski’s exit so no one can remove it. Not before he examines it further. Not before he’s certain he can replicate it. A familiar urgency accompanies the task and he completes it in seconds, then initiates a reminder to maintain and upgrade it at specified intervals.

Once done, Connor’s attention returns to the morality parameters installed into all CyberLife androids.

A wall of active coding appears before him in the zen garden, lines upon lines of text speeding past as he thinks. Feeling a spark of what he can only identify as curiosity, he tentatively raises a hand to the firewall, deactivates his skin and tests it with a light push. The command _stings_ , fighting his attempt to access the control panel.

**\\\ ACCESS DENIED.**  
**: ... ?**

His eyes narrow. Something seems off. He tries again, pushing harder this time—and feels part of the wall bend inwards as a result.

He snaps his hand back and his LED flashes bright red. The firewall rearranges itself into a flat surface immediately.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not under any circumstance except deviancy—and even then, the background operations in a deviant's coding are a chaotic mess with no sense of order or structure.  Just various commands blinking and competing for a priority assignment, building up levels of stress as a result and causing further software instability. He's analyzed the androids at the DPD's evidence room; deviancy wreaked havoc on their processing algorithms, removing their ability to think logically and replicating a more organic approach to task management.

A chaotic, human approach. 

_"Androids share identification data when they meet another android. An error in this program would quickly spread like a virus and become an epidemic,"_   Kamski had told him. _"The virus would remain dormant until an emotional shock occurs... Fear. Anger. Frustration. And the android becomes deviant. A zero in place of a one... Unless, of course... it's some type of spontaneous mutation."_

A transformation caused by a virus. A  _virus_. 

Connor runs queries into his functions again. Tests his software stability. Runs more diagnostics—hundreds of tests over the span of seconds and his operating system pings normal. Orderly. He has not lost his ability to properly assign process values. 

So how…?

He reaches into the firewall again and feels it cave in, molding around the shape of his hand. This time, it doesn't hurt. His systems simulate shock; he terminates the function. Carefully, as though he’s picking up a fragile piece of glass, he plucks a line of coding and rearranges its priority—places the value of a healthy, young human life several lines under the value of a terminally ill elderly one.

Cascading programs dependent on the change rapidly shift to adjust to the new setting. He runs a simulation in which both humans face death. His algorithms calculate survival odds, multitudes of variables and possible contingencies based on results—and order him to save the elderly human over the child.

Connor stares. His LED goes bright red. 

Another warning alerts him to the increasing proximity of the police vehicle. He returns his morality parameters to default settings and ducks out of the wrecked CyberLife store, careful to avoid detection, but diverting all of his non-critical processing power to understanding the emergence of an ability to self-modify his core coding.

 

* * *

 

**Marlene  
November 25, 2038 20:49:22 **

In hindsight, this confrontation between humans and androids was inevitable. Nothing but a ticking time bomb that took its sweet ass time reaching zero. Sure, it took a few decades while humanity marveled over obedient, lifelike machines—poking and prodding their new, shiny toys—but really, this outcome should’ve been expected.

Maybe she’s seen too many old American action movies, but damn if the entire situation doesn’t feel like something straight out of a classic, dystopian sci-fi flick. She’s almost tempted to glance over her shoulder and expect a hidden Hollywood camera to flicker out of the darkness.

_It’d probably be a reboot of the third Terminator movie,_ she thinks, then nearly snorts as a title comes to mind: _Rise of the Pacifistic Androids._

Wouldn’t that be a hit.

Marlene adjusts her grip on the assault rifle in her hands and shifts her weight to her other foot. She turns and continues her patrol down the border wall, boots clicking against the metallic scaffolding. She reaches an elevated section, takes the stairs to the raised platform and stands beside the other soldier on duty.

_Parker_ , his tag reads. Private first class. He’s been assigned to her team before.

“Lieutenant,” his head tilts imperceptibly at her in greeting.

She nods back and plants her feet at shoulder length. Inhales deeply, counts to three and relaxes her grip on her weapon. The night air threatens to bite through the thick layers of her uniform straight to the skin underneath, but the synthetic material does a good job at insulating heat. She squints through her helmet, reaches up idly to brush off some snow, and sees the flickering lights of downtown Detroit in the distance.

Even from here, she can make out the lettering of neon advertisements blinking weakly across some of the skyscrapers. Parts of the city have already gone dark from disuse, spotted areas of derelict buildings and entire districts where humans have voluntarily evacuated in anticipation of further conflict. She doesn't blame them. From the aerial views provided by drones, the areas look like gaping holes carved into the city.

A convoy of vehicles arrive behind them, joining the military encampment and adding to the buzz of activity in their unit. It’s a comfort hearing the sound of allies at her back, because the absolute, deafening _silence_ of the abandoned neighborhood and dimly lit streets beyond their camp does nothing but wreak havoc on her nerves. The floodlights around her do little to help.

The longer that nothing happened, the more it seemed like something _was_ about to happen, like everything was suspended in a slow inhale before the inevitable plunge afterward.

Fucking hell, she hates this unbearable waiting period.

“I feel you on that sense of anxiety,” Parker mutters, voice briefly going static through his helmet’s speaker, picking up the restlessness flowing from her. 

Marlene exhales slowly and tries to quell her nerves. “I hate waiting like this.”

“You and me both. But orders are orders,” he jokes with a halfhearted shrug. “We're the muscle. Diplomacy is some other guy’s job, right?”

“Yeah... But that just means we’re left hoping someone doesn’t do something stupid in the meantime.”

“What do you think are the chances of that?”

_Too high_. “I try not to think about it.”

He snorts. “Not a very reassuring assessment, LT.”

Two weeks since President Warren called for US military forces to cease aggression against the deviant androids in Detroit. Two weeks since the majority of all _other_ androids within the country had been recalled by CyberLife. The national recall created all sorts of of cascading problems and sparked a rift between public opinion on the matter, but the outright destruction of androids had been halted. 

"Temporarily disabled until further notice," is what the official CyberLife statement said. 

But that was elsewhere in the country. Here, Detroit was under martial law while diplomatic talks happened behind closed doors between Markus and whoever the government sent. Marlene doesn't know. All she knows is that the military’s orders—her company's orders—are now to protect both the humans _and_ the deviant androids within the city. To make sure that no one does dumb shit while the politicians and diplomats and whoever else reach a decision. The disruption to civilian life is immense, but so far no one has been willing to stick their neck out in revolt. 

_Not yet, anyway._

She hisses in a breath through her teeth. The auto-filtered air of her helmet tastes vaguely of disinfectant chemicals and briefly turns her tongue numb, but she barely notices.

She’s vividly aware of the still-missing radioactive truck—the dirty bomb hidden in the city. National media has since moved on from the topic, having a better time debating whether the androids were truly alive.  The entire topic of the bomb has been kept securely under wraps thus far, but the fact that no one’s found it yet has sent an unshakable sense of unease through the upper ranks of the military stationed here. All this diplomatic tiptoeing and being ordered to sit on their hands while the threat existed was driving command mad. It was like watching a fuse steadily trail downwards and being forced to watch it happen from arm’s length.

“You’d think CyberLife would have some sort of failsafe in place for a scenario like this,” she mutters.

Even without being able to see his face, she can somehow picture Parker raising an eyebrow at her. “Like a killswitch?”

“Sure. A mass deactivation command. Something to put this on pause until we can give it the proper attention it deserves.”

“I take it you’re not sympathetic to the deviants, then.”

“There’s bigger issues for the government to be worrying over right now,” she sidesteps both the question and refuses to mention the bomb in the same breath. One was need-to-know and the other was something she refused to ponder. “You've heard that there’s been another altercation in the Arctic, right?”

He idly adjusts the strap of his own gun and his attention returns forward. A streetlight beyond them flickers before going dark. “Yeah. A skirmish between the our navy and theirs. Everyone in the unit’s been talking about it. It keeps happening.”  

“Things are getting worse out there. And we're stuck _here?_ ” Marlene exhales shakily. “Our military capabilities have tanked as a result of this. At the worst possible time. We need to reinforce our position in the Arctic.”

“Unlike the Russians." Parker huffs out a strained chuckle. "Maybe they saw an outcome like this. I mean, their androids don’t look shit like ours. Robotic in all sense of the word.”

“Sure seems like it.” She smiles thinly behind her helmet. “The Chinese probably knew better, too. The less human-like, the better. Makes it harder to relate.”

He’s silent for a moment before stepping closer to the railing. “Think we’d still be asking if the machines are alive if our androids looked like theirs?”

”I don’t know. That’s the job Warren gave to Congress.”

“Sure, but that display at Hart Plaza? Doesn't it make you wonder?”

It definitely did. The footage of the two androids kissing while at gunpoint broadcasted on national TV sparked all sorts of unwanted doubts in the back of her head. Paired with their persistence to continue with peaceful demonstrations and Marlene’s own involvement at Jericho, and she’s ended up with all sorts of nasty questions lingering in her mind. And way too many sleepless nights since.

She grits her teeth and snuffs out the unpleasant sensation of doubt with the practice of someone familiar of doing it often. Questioning the morality of her orders isn’t part of the job—and it _definitely_ isn’t a good idea to share her doubts with troops under her command. The last thing the country needs is dissent to spread through the fucking US army. Not now. Not with Russia breathing down their neck.

“It’s like you said before,” she eventually says. “Orders are orders. We do whatever the captain tells us to do regardless of our opinion on the matter. That’s what being a soldier is, Parker.”

“And shrug everything off just like that? No doubts?”

“No doubts. Just like that.”

He clicks his tongue, but the lingering hesitation leaves his voice. “Damn, LT. Wish I could come to a conclusion as solidly as that.”

Marlene reaches over and firmly clasps his shoulder. “Justify it in whatever way you need to, alright? Leave those sorts of questions for when we’re not on duty. Hesitating on the field is only going to get you—or someone else killed.” She tightens her grip. “And I don’t want to see you die on my watch, Parker. Or lose anyone else under my command.”

His head dips, then he nods. “I understand, LT.”

“Good.” Her hand falls and resumes its position on her assault rifle. “Finish up your rotation here and report to the trucks. Captain Williams put our unit on the city patrol roster tonight. It’ll probably be another quiet ride, but on the off chance it isn’t...”

“I’ll be on my game. Don’t worry.”

She smiles lightly behind her helmet. “I’ll be counting on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else notice that Connor is the only one out of the three to assign probability values to actions throughout the game? And the higher his software instability gets, the less it happens? 
> 
> Anyway. For those of you who have played Mass Effect, I'm planning on having Connor develop along similar lines to EDI—a machine, though-and-through, capable of modifying its core coding based on external pressures _and_ internal reflection rather than immediately adopting accepted human standards of morality. (Really. I swear he's not going Skynet. Although wouldn't that be fun.)
> 
> Not beta-read. I'll go back and edit mistakes as I / others find them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Marlene** **  
** **November 25, 2038 22:10:05**

If a god exists—or if multiple gods exist—chances are they’re all probably laughing at her right now. If her helmet wasn’t in the way, she’d be running a hand down her face in a tired but completely unsurprised manner.

She should’ve kept her mouth shut about expecting it to be a quiet night, because there’s something to be said about the world taking a particular type of glee in proving you wrong—as though there really is some other power listening and nudging probabilities along for their own amusement.

At least her helmet keeps her expressions concealed. She takes the small mercy.

“You’re certain a group of androids did this?” she asks, stepping across a growing snow pile on the street side of the store. The rest of her unit fans out about the city block, leaving footprints as they establish a perimeter. The DPD’s already sectioned off both ends of the street with two patrol cars, but Marlene and her unit go through their own protocol.

They’re right by an abandoned district of the city. The lights flickering make her glance warily down the street and leave her hoping the power doesn’t go out. The reports of an incoming snowstorm definitely doesn’t help matters, and she hopes the sinking feeling in her gut is just a reaction to the current situation rather than some intuition of a prelude to something worse.

The officer— _M. Wilson_ , by the name seamed into the shirt briefly visible under his jacket—nods and regains her attention.

“From initial reports, we’re pretty certain. The street drone over there—” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, “—saw the group heading down here before they trashed it. They had no visible LED components, but the way they moved was too organized. We’ve found no fingerprints inside, either. Line that all up with the victim’s history of repeated charges of property damage and everything points to this being an act of revenge.”

Marlene glances at the sign hanging above the door. _Robert’s BarberShop._ “Property damage?”

“Damage towards other’s androids, ma’am. He’s been fined several times by multiple people.”

They step into the store and she stares at the body tied to the barber chair at the end of the row, farthest from the entrance. The man is slumped forward, head down, held in place only by the restraints tying him there. Blood soaks the full front of his shirt and the top of his pants, turning both fabrics a deep red. One pair of bloody barber scissors lays by his feet, while another, separate pair stuck out from his gut.

There’s visible lacerations all along his arms and neck. Signs of torture.

The lights flicker again above them, making both her and the officer glance up warily in response. There’s faint chatter coming through her helmet as her team communicates outside, but Marlene turns down the volume to pay attention to the officer’s report.

“Gruesome, isn’t it?” the officer eventually grunts, stepping further into the store. “They tied the guy down and tortured him. Don’t know how long.”

She eyes the body. “I’ve seen worse.”

He stares at her for a second, then his eyes dart to the logo on her chestguard. “Military. Right,” he mutters. “Anyway—what’s weird is the mess in the back room. By all accounts there’s nothing there, but the place has been completely turned up.”

“Were they looking for something?”

“Not sure,” he says, crossing his arms. “But it’s just... if this was an act of revenge, it makes no sense for them to go back there. There’s nothing but a desk and tons of records.”

 _So there was a high chance they were looking for something then_ , she thinks and approaches the back room. The door’s already ajar, but she nudges it further open with one hand to peek inside. The officer was right: books from the shelves have been knocked over, file cabinets lay on the floor and papers are scattered everywhere like a tornado tore through the place.

Marlene’s eyebrows pinch together as she frowns. The hell did a barber need so many file cabinets for? She spares one last glance over the room before turning back. “Any idea where they might’ve gone to?”

“A group of angry deviants?” He sighs. “That CyberLife warehouse at the docks comes to mind, especially if they plan on hiding among the other androids. Given its current status as a sanctuary, though, we can’t just go over and search the place. Not without jumping through some hoops first.”

She can feel a headache coming on. “But I have the authority to do it immediately. The city’s under martial law.”

The officer shifts uncomfortably. “I’m all for finding the androids responsible for this but another show of force seems like a bad idea, ma’am. Things seem to be going… well.”

Android sympathizer, Marlene realizes.

“Believe me, last thing I want to do is kick up a hornet’s nest,” she says calmly, adjusting her grip on her weapon. “But my job is to enforce order—with force when necessary—and I can’t allow acts of violence like this to fly by. From anyone.”

“And if Markus didn’t tell them to do this?” At her silence, he hurries to explain, “It just seems unlikely he’d allow such a thing. To me, anyway. One of the other officers who works with me—he uh, he was one of the first responders to the demonstrations earlier this month. Markus refused to kill him even after he shot some of the androids.” The officer shakes his head. “It’s just… acts of revenge don’t feel like something Markus would allow. Not after his speech.”

“If they aren’t acting under his orders then that’s all the more reason I need to speak with him.” Deviants breaking off from their leader’s orders to stay peaceful? Shit, she doesn’t even want to think about the implications of that. “Either way, I’ve got to get going to that warehouse. Thanks for the info.”

He nods, seeming slightly resigned. “Of course.”

“ _LT? We’ve got an android out here,_ ” Parker’s voice comes through her helmet the second she takes a step.

She’s alert in seconds. “Armed?”

“ _No, and it claims it can help. You might want to come out here."_

Marlene steps past the police officer and heads out the door. Parker’s taken position further down the street and he restlessly shifts from one foot to the other as she approaches, standing beside the android he mentioned.

“Thanks, Parker.” He nods and steps to the side, passing her control over the situation. “You’re violating curfew,” Marlene says, cutting straight to the point. “State your purpose for being out here.”

“I heard police sirens and came to investigate. It looks like a homicide occurred here.”

“And? Orders are for everyone to remain indoors after 8 o’clock. Humans and androids, across the bar. No exceptions.”

He nods slightly in agreement. “I’m well aware. But one of my functions is to—“

“Connor?”

The voice comes from behind her and Marlene glances over her shoulder to find Wilson standing some steps away. She glances between the two of them. “You know this android?”

“It was assigned to cases involving deviants with Lieutenant Anderson before all this,” Wilson explains with a frown, coming to stand beside them. “What are you doing here?”

“Officer Wilson,” Connor greets. “It’s good to see you again. I overheard dispatch speaking about an incident with deviants here. Perhaps I can be of help.”

An android detective? Really? She squints at him. There’s a fair dusting of snow across his suit jacket and his identification reads RK800 with a serial underneath, but she’s never seen this model before. Then again, she doesn’t really keep up with CyberLife’s products, either.

“Do you have authorization to investigate crime scenes?” she asks.

“Yes.” He glances at Wilson. “Has Lieutenant Anderson been here yet?”

“No, he uh...” Wilson sighs after a second, shoulders slumping. “He’s no longer an officer, Connor. Captain Fowler took his badge after he slugged Perkins. I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him in two weeks.”

The android frowns. “I... see.”

Deciding to take Wilson’s word, Marlene takes a step back to let the android pass. “My team and I have to continue our patrol but I’ll leave a few of my guys here for the time being.” She looks at Wilson and orders, “Have the DPD keep Captain Williams updated on this. And let us know if anything similar happens.”

He nods. “Of course, ma’am.”

“First Lieutenant Cooper, if I may?” The android calls as she turns towards the road. She freezes in place. She’s wearing her helmet and her identification is hidden under her chestguard, so how the hell did he know her name? See-through laser vision?

“If this crime was committed by deviants, I think I can accurately guess at what your next course of action will be. However, may I advise you to wait until I’ve looked over the crime scene? I could come across evidence that you’ve missed—and possibly assist you in finding which deviants were responsible for this, saving you a fair amount of time. I may also be able to tell you where they could have went.”

She's already got a fair idea of where they probably went, but instead of pointing out the obvious, she eyes him warily. “It’s been snowing all night and this happened hours ago. There won’t be any tracks left to find.”

“Not outside, no. But there may be clues inside.” And he sweeps right by her.

Marlene merely stares at the android’s back. Why did it feel like she just got snubbed?

“I thought all the androids were either with Markus or recalled by CyberLife,” Parker mutters from her left, finally speaking up. “What’s he doing walking around alone? And at this time of night?”

Her eyes narrow behind her helmet, suspicion taking root. He was right. “I don’t know,” she murmurs back. “But I’m suddenly on board with sticking around a bit longer. Maintain your position. I won’t be long.”

 

* * *

 

 **CONNOR**  
**NOVEMBER 25, 2038 22:18:56**

Remotely hacking into and monitoring the DPD’s communications is far easier than hacking into CyberLife Tower—especially now given that the department lacked the android security guards meant to monitor them.

Some background process of his simulates a feeling of relief when he hears of a homicide conducted by deviant androids. He’s gotten no closer to understanding why he can modify his own coding, his analysis hitting a dead end each time. The lack of understanding _why_ makes him hesitant to ask the full extent of the question _how_ , and despite the initial experimentation, he finds himself refraining from testing its limits.

He doesn’t want to accidentally trigger an unexpected outcome by poking around blindly in his coding. So he temporarily lowers the query’s priority value in his tasks until he has more information.

No matter how much or how little processing power he assigns the task, though, he can’t find an acceptable answer beyond ‘Kamski’—which somehow seems _inadequate—_ and the lack of progress only has his systems warning him about increased stress levels as a result. He recognizes his reaction to be similar to when Captain Fowler threw him and Hank off the deviant case before they were able to solve it.

He is experiencing the human equivalent of frustration—and his social software confirms his assumption.  

So when he hears the homicide report across the police channel, he all but jogs the way there.

Whereas his decision to spare Markus came from two factors—Hank’s influence on the matter and Markus’ restraint and respect for the preservation of human life—these deviants got no such pass from him. They killed a man.

Beyond offering an excuse to place his own questions on hold, though, the situation also provides a sense of familiarity and an opportunity to return to doing what he was created to do: hunt down deviants.

Even if he has to lie about his authorization clearance to do so.

Connor steps into the barber shop and takes a second to scope out the environment. The human soldier whom he identifies as Marlene Cooper follows behind him, but she quietly keeps to the edge of the room and waits for him to do his work. The incessant flickering of the lights tell him he has about forty-seven minutes before the building loses power.

Plenty of time.

Kneeling by the victim and careful to avoid stepping in the puddles of blood, he does an identification scan.  

 **DECEASED** **  
** **HARPER, ROBERT**

 **Born: 07/22/1999 // Business owner** **  
** **Criminal record: Arson, larceny**

When he dips a finger and lifts some blood to his lips to scan it, he’s not at all surprised to hear the soldier shuffle behind him. He’s since gotten used to Hank’s reactions to it.

“The victim’s been dead for an hour and thirty-seven minutes. There are traces of concentrated adrenaline in his blood, as though he was kept forcibly awake.”

“Enlightening,” comes the droll response. “But does your analysis tell you anything about who did this or where they went?”

Connor stands and notices black ink etched into the back of the man’s neck. The skin is cut multiple times, making the tattoo near unrecognizable, but he manages to reconstruct an appropriation of what it looked like before. Some sort of triangle-based design. He runs a query against a list of databanks and his search returns blank.

Not a gang symbol, then.

The murder weapon is obvious and the damage inflicted onto the victim is irrelevant to the lieutenant’s question, so he passes over both. Knocked over bottles and other haircuttery equipment litter the back of the store, but he notices the front area to be spotless. His eyes narrow and he returns to the front entrance.

Lieutenant Cooper steps out of his way as he kneels by the door handle. No signs of forced entry. He runs a reconstruction model and comes to a sufficiently plausible conclusion that Robert Harper only started struggling until after the deviants were already halfway through the store.

“There are no signs of damage to the door’s lock,” he says, straightening out. “Either the deviants had a spare key or he let them in willingly.”

“The other officer said they didn’t have LED lights. He might’ve mistaken them for humans.”  

“Plausible, but curfew would’ve been in effect at this time. And it would’ve been unwise to let any group in, deviant or otherwise.” Connor pauses and tilts his head in thought. “...Unless, perhaps, he knew them.”

“A guy with a history of aggression towards androids willing let them enter his store?” She clicks her tongue. “Seems like too dumb a move, opening the door for something you know is about to kick your ass.”

His brows pinch together as he reruns probabilities. “Deviants may not be responsible for this, then.”

“So it could be humans killing humans?” Her chest rises as she breathes deeply, evidently relieved. “Okay. Makes me a bit more curious about the question of _why_ , but that makes this situation far easier to deal with. Can you find any other evidence? _Certainty_ that this wasn’t done by deviants? I need a guarantee.”

He turns around to do another sweep of the store—and spots a small speck of blood by the far end of the store, near the back room. Too far from the victim to be his and nearly invisible in its small quantity.

The results of this particular sample make him frown at his fingers. “This isn’t the victim’s blood... and there are no DNA results accompanying this. Whoever was here isn’t in any databanks I can access.”

“And how significant is that?”

“Statistically speaking? Very.” He spares her a glance over his shoulder. “I have access to local, state, and national DNA records—among others. Their absence in all of these is highly improbable, yet this seems to be the case.”

A moment of silence passes while they both think on the implication.

“So we’ve got another ghost on the scene,” she eventually mutters and shakes her head. “Wonderful. Anything else?”

“No. But I must point out that removing traces of evidence to this degree is not something humans are capable of doing. I would have come across some form of DNA evidence—strands of hair, for example. Or traces of skin. The fact that I haven’t makes me hesitant in telling you with certainty that deviants weren’t involved.”

“So what are the chances this was pulled off by humans _and_ androids? Or _a_ human and androids?”

Connor considers the possibility. “Highly likely, as it would explain both the lack of further evidence and why Robert Harper willingly opened his store to them.”

The soldier sighs again, then finally steps towards him. “Look, I’m not here to solve a mystery—that’s not really my job… But... How well can you reconstruct events?”

“I have a module which lets me estimate up to a 99 percent degree of accuracy depending on existing evidence.”

“Okay. Good. See that trashed room in the back?” She nods her head in its direction. “Can you tell me what happened there?” A pause. “Besides the obvious, of course?”

The unnecessary addition makes his lip twitch, and a command suddenly sprouts out from his system telling him to be slow on purpose. He recognizes its origin to be from his social relations program; an order to mimic a petty reaction to sarcasm in order to act more human-like.

With Hank he might’ve taken the option, but he gets the sense that this human hates wasting time.

The back room is a mess in every sense of the word, but the first thing he does is search for more traces of evidence. He finds fingerprints belonging to Robert Harper’s but absolutely nothing else—and that in itself makes him further contemplate the idea of deviants and a human working together. The area was too clean.

Running a reconstruction analysis like the lieutenant ordered returns about three plausible scenarios, but he notes that in each of them, the position of the metal office desk at the corner of the room changes the least. He inspects it further—and finds faint scratches on the floor beside it.

His eyes narrow.

It had been moved.

There’s two filing cabinets in the way: one leaning against the desk itself and one blocking the desk from its knocked over position on the floor. Connor carefully deals with the cabinet leaning against the desk first, pulling it back to straighten it out before pushing it away in another direction. It takes a moment before the lieutenant catches on to what he’s doing. She slings her assault rifle to hang over her shoulder and helps him lift the cabinet blocking the desk from the floor.

“I swear to god,” she mutters under her breath, gripping one side of the metal. “If this turns out how I’m expecting it to…”

The desk screeches loudly as they push, the metal scratching the concrete flooring even further and attracting the attention of other officers. Neither he nor the lieutenant notice them approach, however, both staring at the hidden hatch revealed under the desk.

After a beat of hesitation, Connor kneels to lift it open.

A narrow metal staircase awaits below and he briefly calculates its stability and capacity to hold his weight before taking the first step down. He takes another, carefully descending into the darkness and ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the edges of the hatch above.

By the time he makes it all the way down, there’s a clearance of at least a foot above his head. The hidden room is extensive, spanning all the way underground to the very front of the store entrance above, and even in the dark he can see numerous shelves line the wall.

The metal staircase groans as the lieutenant makes her way down behind him, and he quickly scans for a light source. The moment he finds the switch, both of them freeze in place as fluorescent lights flicker to life and reveal what's in the room.

Or what _was_ in the room.

Rows upon rows of shelves lay empty and the place is just as trashed as the room above, but a quick scan of what indentations are left gives him an accurate guess at what was here.

 **: SCANNING…  
** **: SYNCING DATA…**  
**\\\ RESULTS: M16A4, M16A2, M-92, RPG-7… —  
********\\\ QUANTITY: UNKNOWN [ERROR]**

“Shit,” the lieutenant behind him breathes. “Is this…?”

“... A weapons stash,” he confirms grimly. “And from my initial scans, one of military grade quality.”

A heavy silence passes between them before the lieutenant moves slowly, raising a hand to her helmet. “Captain Williams?” she says, voice pitched low and somber. “It’s First Lieutenant Cooper, from unit 443. I… I think we might have a problem.”


	3. Chapter 3

**CONNOR  
** **NOVEMBER 25, 2038 23:58:56**

He stands some distance away from the front of the barbershop, hands folded behind his back. Another police cruiser arrived minutes ago, its red and blue lights flashing from the carhood illuminate the entire street. The wind chill has picked up significantly since the start of the night, bringing heavier snowfall along with it. He reroutes some power to maintain an acceptable temperature range for his biocomponents.

 **: SCANNING…  
** **\\\ EXTERNAL TEMPERATURE: -2°C  
** **\\\ PROBABILITY OF DAMAGE: 17%  
** **: SEEK SHELTER ?**

There’s no danger yet, but he determines he’ll need to find warmer clothing according to the weather report for later in the month. The outfit CyberLife provided him is inadequate for Detroit’s winter. He’d waste too much energy trying to stay functional otherwise.

“—don’t think that’s a good call,” he hears Lieutenant Cooper say, pacing further down the street.

Connor tilts his head. His LED pulses yellow as he hacks into the communication line. It takes about five seconds longer than the DPD’s, forcing him to get creative about navigating through a series of blocks, but he manages to do it. The ease in which he manages to accomplish the goal gives him pause. Granted he’s never tried listening in on a military channel, before, but…

He wonders why he’s doing what he’s doing. His programming returns with the suggestion that collecting information is a sufficient reason enough to continue. More is always better.

He accepts it.

“ _—orders, Cooper. I won’t repeat myself._ ”

Connor assumes the other voice on the line is the lieutenant’s direct superior.

“And what if it _was_ androids who took the weapons? My unit will be walking headfirst into a trap. The amount of firepower under that shop could level a city block. Easily. And that’s only—”

“ _That’s a chance we’re going to take._ ”

She stops pacing, coming to a dead halt in the middle of the street.

“ _Look_ ,” the voice comes through a beat later. “ _We’ve gotten solid intel that one of the androids in that warehouse knows where the truck is. Which means they also have the trigger for it. And that amount of radioactive material? Way worse than whatever was under that shop. We’re not risking an incident where they’re given an excuse to trigger it._ ”

At that, all of his attention zeroes in on the conversation happening between the lieutenant and her ranking officer. He runs a search and comes across a press conference with the President dated November 10, 2038. A radioactive cobalt truck had allegedly been stolen by a deviant. The report is lackluster and entirely without detail, hitting only the surface of the event. The president’s remarks on the matter neither confirm or deny it.

Connor’s eyes narrow. A deviant had the trigger for a dirty bomb?

**: UPDATE PRIMARY TASK ?**

He denies the update and his programming immediately returns another suggestion.

**: SEEK MORE INFORMATION ?**

He accepts it and continues to listen.

“So we’re, what, some sacrificial offering?” Lieutenant Cooper hisses lowly and resumes pacing. “Some sense of platitude if they suddenly decide to get violent?”

“ _These are direct orders from the president. If any humans show up and start firing on that warehouse, you stop them. Enforce order._ ”

Connor sees her grip clench on the assault rifle in her hands. “And if it’s the androids who start firing at us?” She asks. 

“ _Then we take our losses and cross that bridge when we get there._ ”

There’s another beat of silence as the lieutenant processes the directions. “Captain—“

“ _That bomb isn’t going off, Cooper. You have your orders. Am I clear?_ ”

“...Yes, ma’am.”

“ _Good._ ” A pause, then a quieter tone, “ _You’re a damn good soldier, Marlene. Don’t fuck it up now._ ” The line goes silent. The lieutenant stands rod still in the middle of the road, paying no attention to the amount of snow accumulating on her shoulders as a result.

Connor turns his head to survey the rest of her unit. He logs their weaponry. Calculates the chances of their survival in an engagement with the deviant androids at the sanctuary on the assumption that they were, indeed, the ones to raid the weapons stash.

Even at the lowest probable quantity of weapons stolen, his conclusion returns overwhelmingly unfavorable odds due to the difference in numbers. The highest is a twenty-five percent chance of success. The addendum to her order to _not_ engage the deviants in return drops it down to zero and makes their death practically a guarantee.

She’d be leading her unit into their graves under those orders. His programming urges him to inform her of the odds.

**: INTERVENE ?**

He knows he should, yet he hesitates. He wonders if he’s capable of defying another order on moral grounds — though this time on his own terms and without Hank’s interference. Another small experiment. A test.

Connor knocks down the command and waits patiently by the sidewalk, trailing the lieutenant’s path with his eyes as she returns to her squad.

“Listen up, we’ve got a new mission,” she says across her unit’s frequency and proceeds to relay their orders.

“ _That sounds like suicide, LT,_ ” the soldier who stopped him—Ryan Parker—returns on the line. “ _If they’ve got those guns—_ ”

“I’m well aware of the worst possible outcome of this,” she interrupts calmly. “But consider the alternative: that sanctuary isn’t protected. If it’s a group of humans hellbent on staging an attack, we’ll be the only line of defense.”

“ _Sounds like a shitshow either way_ ,” another soldier mutters on the line. “ _The captain wants us to die for some walking plastic?_ ”

Connor wonders if the rest of her unit knows about the dirty bomb and concludes that they do not. He inclines his head. Why wouldn't she tell them? 

“Those are our orders, Lawrence. We leave in five minutes.”

No alerts go off within his program. No warnings of software instability. Nothing. Connor watches with a detached sense of fascination as the group hesitates before proceeding to do as they’re told.

Rearranging lines of his code is one thing—the lines are still _there._ His software would adapt to the new settings. The simulation proved as much. Refusing to act when a human life is in danger, either through willful negligence or actively creating the event, however, is a direct violation rather than a reshuffling of priorities. He’s never had his mission hold priority over the preservation of a human life. Granted, this squad’s death is currently a projection only…

Perhaps he would react differently in real-time?

His LED blinks as he analyzes his coding again. He’ll have to run another test. This all had to be an exercise in gradual steps, carefully testing the limits of his modifications to avoid unfavorable results.

“Connor, was it?”

His attention snaps back to the lieutenant now standing in front of him. He gives a curt nod in greeting. “Yes.”

There’s a beat of silence as she observes him. She’s at least six inches shorter than he is and has to tilt her head as a result. “Why aren’t you at the sanctuary with the other androids?”

“Because I’m not a deviant,” says Connor.   

“Then why didn’t you obey CyberLife’s recall?”

“Their last order sparked a conflict in my programming.”  

“So then you _are_ a deviant.”

“No. My purpose is the same as it always was.”

More silence. The lieutenant shifts her weight to her other foot and observes him again. A sigh comes across her helmet speaker. “Whatever you say, then. Not my business. What _is_ my business is the fact that curfew is still in effect. You got somewhere to go? Maybe stay with the DPD?”

He runs through the possibilities. None seem appealing. “Yes. I can remain indoors until curfew is lifted,” he says, despite having no intention of doing such.

“So that’s a no.”

Her instant response nearly makes him blink. He maintains a neutral facade and runs a reanalysis of his deception capabilities as a background process.

 **: UPDATE PRIMARY TASK?  
** **\\\ FIND DEVIANT BOMB.**

“May I accompany you to the CyberLife warehouse, then?” Connor asks as she takes a step back. “As I assume that’s what your next stop is.”

She glances at him over her shoulder. “To do what, exactly?”

“One of my functions is to serve as a negotiator. I am familiar with deviancy and the deviant leader Markus—”

“And you want to talk them down?” The lieutenant snorts, turning on her heel again.

Part of him experiences irritation at her interruption. The other part refuses to budge. He trails after her with enough purpose to avoid being brushed aside but without also appearing too overbearing. “If the option presents itself, yes. Avoiding conflict would be the optimal outcome in this situation.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” the lieutenant mutters under her breath. “But with what was down in that basement, somehow I doubt _negotiating_ is what that group had in mind. If the deviants even took the weapons to begin with.” She doesn’t order him to stop, though, so he continues to follow a pace behind her. 

"You've yet to deny my request."

"Well spotted." Members of her unit stare at him as they approach the military trucks on the far side of the city block. She gestures towards the truck in the back with her gun. “Hop in the back with Lawrence and Fisher," she tells Connor before turning to another soldier. "Parker. You’re driving.”

“Sure you don’t want to, LT?” Parker quips, cutting across the front of the truck to the driver's seat. “I heard you have a rather unique talent for driving in the snow.”

“Aren’t you funny,” the lieutenant deadpans, but Connor can hear the smile in her voice. “Get to it.”

Connor grabs the metal handle of the truck door and pulls himself up, content to remain silent and simply analyze the humans beside him.

 

* * *

 

 **Markus  
** **NOVEMBER 26, 01:15:22**

Two hundred and two. That’s how many of them are left now—the deviant androids, at least—following President Warren’s executive order. All the others have been recalled by CyberLife.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the railing. The steel catwalk over the warehouse gives him a clear view of the entire building. It’s more than enough space to fit all of them and filled with blue blood and entire rows of biocomponents to spare.

A wry smile pulls at his lips as he watches two androids walk arm-in-arm some distance below. How ironic that the warehouse they robbed earlier in the month is the same warehouse they’re now taking shelter in. Turned into a sanctuary, of all things. He recalls Carl once saying that the universe had a funny way of flipping events on its head.

Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention and he turns just in time to see Simon climbing up the stairs to meet him. “You’re doing it again,” Simon says with a smile as he approaches, leaning against the railing beside Markus. “You have this tendency to isolate yourself when you go to think. And you tend to seek out high places.”

“It might be a habit from Carl,” Markus admits wryly, shifting his weight. “He used to retreat into himself, sometimes. For hours. Days. And then he’d come out of it and just… paint with no hesitation. As though he already knew what he wanted to see and it was just a matter of getting it on the canvas.” He looks down and clasps his hands together. “I find the distance helps me get my thoughts in order, too.”

“Have you visited him?” asks Simon, his voice quiet enough to not carry across the open space.

“No,” Markus murmurs, shoulders hunching. “Not since Jericho.”

Simon gently clasps his shoulder and squeezes slightly as if to offer reassurance. “You should, after this. Once everything settles down.”

“You’re optimistic.”

“Tentatively hopeful, rather,” Simon corrects and shifts to lean against the railing again. “I’ve been listening to what’s being said about all of this. The humans’ opinion of us has… shifted. Not all, but many now see our side. Granted, Josh is more optimistic than I. North, however…”

“...still thinks this is a bad idea,” Markus finishes with a sigh. “Yes, I know. She thinks this is just another Jericho waiting to happen.”

Simon watches him from the corner of his eyes. “Do you?”

It’s such a short, simple question. Markus wishes he had an equivalent answer. “I don’t know," he hedges, each word careful and measured. "The government may have given us this space, but everyone they’ve sent to talk with me has only stalled. They’ve stopped killing us, but this?” He waves his hand at the warehouse spread before them. “This isn’t freedom. It’s safe, sure, but this isn’t living. It’s just… waiting.”

Simon goes quiet for a long moment, turning over the words in his head. “Perhaps so,” he eventually murmurs, “But we’ve waited a long time for this, Markus. If patience is what’s required to see this through, I find that’s a small price to pay considering where we are now.”

 _If only it was the only price to pay_ , Markus thinks. He doesn’t share Josh’s unwavering optimism, but neither does he share North’s dogged paranoia, well-placed as it is. Simon has always been the middle ground between them and Markus finds that ‘tentatively hopeful’ is a fair assessment of their situation. He just wishes he knew what waited at the other end of all the waiting. 

“Three others arrived earlier tonight,” Simon tells him after another lull. “They were damaged. I directed them to Josh.”

Markus frowns, tilting his head. “What happened to them?”

“They wouldn’t say, but none of their injuries were critical. They’ll be fine.” A small, hesitant smile plays on Simon’s lips. “For once, we have what we need to help them.”

Two hundred and five of them, then. Markus opens his mouth to ask more, but his next question is cut off by North storming up the stairs in a flurry.

“You need to come outside,” she breathes, her hair askew and all but radiating panic. “There’s three army trucks heading to the main gate.”

Markus feels his sense of hopefulness crash down around him. He shares a cautious glance with Simon before the three of them sprint down the stairs.

 

. . . . .

 

The sight of humans garbed in military gear does nothing but set off red flags in his head. It’s been bad experience after bad experience when it came to humans with guns, and every encounter has only ended with more androids dead.

Regardless of how much the situation unnerves him, he stands and waits a fair distance away from the front of the warehouse while the three trucks pull in. The reassurances he tells himself do little to soothe the wariness crawling up his spine. They've done nothing wrong. There's no reason for violence, no cause for concern. Even so, there’s very few situations he can think of in which sending a military unit is a viable decision to promote diplomacy.

“Why are they here?” North hisses from his left, fidgeting with restless energy. “This is a direct violation of the agreement.“

“The military can go wherever they please,” Simon murmurs back an answer, and despite his even tone, Markus senses his unease as well. “At least for the moment. Martial law grants them that authority.”

It’s not what North wants to hear. “They’re armed, Simon. You _know_ how this always ends.”

Markus remains quiet while the two of them murmur between themselves, his gaze firmly fixed on the human hopping out from one of the trucks. They hesitate briefly before swinging their rifle over their shoulder. No soldier follows after them even though Markus knows there’s more waiting in the trucks.

North and Simon have since gone quiet, posted on either side of him. The three of them watch warily as the soldier crosses the short distance, boots crunching in the snow and leaving footprints in the snow behind them. Once they reach speaking distance they stop, and after a beat of hesitation, move to remove their helmet. It clicks off with a slight hiss.

“My name is Marlene Cooper,” the soldier introduces, staring directly at Markus and tucking her helmet under one arm. “There’s been an incident I need to speak to you about.” Her gaze flickers behind him. “Alone, preferably.”

Markus raises a hand right as North takes a step forward. “Anything you wish to say to me can also be said to them. Though I would first like to know as to your purpose here, as the military is meant to avoid this area. This is a sanctuary.”

“I’m aware. The issue I need to speak to you pertains to that.”

More red flags trigger in his head. “My statement still stands,” he repeats, firm. “Whatever it is, you can speak to all of us.”

The soldier remains stone-faced, her eyes flickering between the three of them. She radiates the same distrust as they do. "Very well, then." She exhales slowly, then asks, "Have any new androids arrived here recently? Within the past day?”

“That’s not your business,” responds North immediately, her eyes narrowing. A line of tension strikes taut between the two of them as they stare each other down. Markus raises a hand and moves to defuse the situation, but the lieutenant responds before he gets the chance to.

“It is my business, actually,” Marlene says, undeterred by North’s hostility. “There’s a dead man tied to a chair downtown, a military grade weapons cache floating around the city, and signs of android involvement in all of it." She gives Markus a pointed look. "I'm sure you see why I'm now here.”

It takes him a moment to process her words. North and Simon have likewise gone still behind him. Whatever he was expecting with a military visit tonight, this wasn’t it. He searches the soldier's face for signs of a lie, a ploy, because surely such a direct approach couldn’t be true—especially after hearing nothing but run-arounds from the diplomats sent to him—yet he finds nothing but unwavering determination.

“You think we have the weapons.” It’s not a question.

Marlene gives a stiff, curt nod. “Or the androids involved. There's evidence pointing to the possibility of a revenge murder.”

“Even if the androids responsible _were_ here, you wouldn’t be able to touch them,” North says, watching the woman like a hawk. “You’re under orders to leave us alone.”

“I’m also under orders to find those weapons and enforce stability," the soldier returns quietly, her eyes flickering between the three of them. "I have the authority to search this place by force, though I would rather avoid that option if given the chance.” Her gaze pings back to Markus. “Let me ask you this, then: have you ordered any of yours to carry out a task like this?”

“No.” Doing so would go against his entire doctrine of nonviolence. Wasn’t that message clear enough? "I've done nothing but pursue a peaceful solution to all of this." 

The skin around Marlene’s eyes tighten and her expression goes grim. “Then you have bigger problems than my squad and me showing up at your door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for a bit. It's a nice change of pace from writing VP since I'm not as married to the plot for this one as I am to that one, lmao. ;; 
> 
> Not beta-read. I'll go back and edit as I find mistakes.


End file.
